Grave affairs
by TheHipsterTheorem
Summary: Nobody wants to hire a dead man, especially an impostor, Sherlock thought as he flicked through his contacts. Nobody knew how difficult and boring his life had become since he was 'resurrected'. He thought he could seek solace in another dead man, the only one who didn't bore him, but what happens when Jim replies one evening? Post Reich Will be foul language and smut at times.
1. House Cats Grumbles

John was asleep, his head burrowed beneath Sherlocks sharp jaw. They had been like this for an hour now, the TV played an annoying game show in the background. He smiled down at the snoring man apathetically, rubbing his shoulder to comfort him.

It had been two months since Sherlocks triumphant (his word) return home. He was greeted by a sad small man who looked like he had been broken down to nearly nothing. John kissed him that night and every night since, swearing that he'd never let Holmes get into danger again. He tells Sherlock every day.

So this was it now, tea, cable, and asleep by ten. His life seemed dismal and Sherlock was growing to hate it more and more with each creeping minute. He didn't care what happened at the bank today and he didn't care who won 'QI' and he definitely didn't care for being treated like a house cat.

Sighing as he did so, the detective flicked off the tube and carried the smaller man to bed. His mobile was laid to rest on the nightstand while he changed out of his collared shirt. The brunette sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his eyes, he was going crazy, of this he was sure. A loud snore came from behind him and brought a small smile to the corner of Sherlocks mouth. He leaned over and planted a small pity kiss on Johns face. He gazed at him for a short time, silently apologizing over and over for hating the second life that Watson had provided.

Accepting defeat in the day Sherlock laid down and stared absently at the ceiling. He checked his phone almost impatiently, as if he had a sleep schedule. The digital clock on the phones screen showed 11:56. Almost another day done. He flicked through his phone, trying to pass time until he found solace in sleep, an activity he told himself he would never do, because 'only lonely pathetic people go looking for contact at this time of night'.

Moriarty. He clenched his eyes tight then peered back at the phone intensely. The name brought forth a heat in his chest. Sherlock blinked again, staring at the phone until its time had changed to midnight.

Options New Text Message

He paused as the cursor prompted for a message, but he had no words for the dead man. A long while passed while he glared at the screen, the cursor blinking in more of a taunt than a prompt now. Sherlock closed the open message and put the phone back to its place on the nightstand. He lay there in the darkness, waiting for nothing it appeared, staring dismally at the foot of their bed.

Holmes exhaled sharply and snatched the phone back.

Moriarty Options New Text Message

'Wish you weren't dead -SH'. Was the best he could muster. Sent at 12:06 a.m.

Received.

Now he panicked noiselessly in his own mind, entertaining himself with thoughts of an answer from beyond the grave. Perhaps something that would cure him of this eternal boredom, this life without thrill was getting old. But the phone lay on his chest, holding no answers. After nearly ten minutes of waiting the detective gave up on his wild thoughts and closed his eyes, sleep coming nearly an hour later.

It was 3:25 a.m. when he awoke to a loud beep. His phone had gone off, still laying on his chest. Checking to see if John was awake first, he kept his wits about him. Seeing as the doctor was asleep Sherlock nearly smiled to see a reply from Moriarty waiting for him.

'Sometimes wishes come true Sherly~. -Jim Moriarty X'.

Fingers curled around the phone, his mind went a million places with a million replies. The one that jumped out at him however, was a bit more of a desperate plea than a clever remark.

Reply 'Care for a nightcap? -SH' Sent at 3:27. Received.

Sherlock looked guiltily down at the slumbering Watson.

'Crowne Plaza Hotel, room 56. Mini bar is stocked. -Jim Moriarty X'.


	2. The Crowne Royal

Jim put on his tie and straightened it. His fingers were nearly shaking as the silk slipped in and out of itself.

"I'll be gone for the night." He called out to Sebastian in the bedroom.

He checked himself almost obsessively in the bathroom mirror. Trying desperately to wipe the bags away from his eyes, Jim was greeted by a large paw wrapping itself around his waist.

"And where are you off to?" Sebastian breathed in his bosses cologne, his lips lingering on Moriartys pale neck.

"Stop." He raised a hand to Morans face, pushing him back. "Lock the door on your way out." Jim fixed his cufflinks and stalked out of the bathroom and towards the door.

His driver was out front by the time he was down the drive. "The Grand Plaza." He barked, straightening his shirt cuffs. The drive seemed to take ages to the eager magpie. Jim longed to see his old comrade, wanting to hear his cold tone. Holmes intelligence compared to Sebastians would be a breath of fresh air to him. Nobody challenged him the way Sherlock had. Even in the back of his mind he knew the detective would be more clever than to kill himself, and this relieved Jim in a way that put his mind at an excited ease. He had been pining for this day.

Jim coughed and stepped graciously out of the car as they arrived. He said not a word to his driver nor the man behind the front desk and strutted to his reserved room.

He flicked his tongue about his lips as he settled into an arm chair only to pick himself back up and hurry to his mini bar. He swallowed down a personal nip of rum before settling back down to the chairs overstuffed cushions. He must have appeared calm to the naked eye but behind the brim of his skull his mind was whirring and whizzing with possibilities of the situation. The Irish man was at a full panic until the knock at the door.

In a flash he was opening it, sweeping his arm toward the room.

"Welcome dear Holmes."

The taller man raised an eyebrow to the room, he seemed to expect something grander than the compact living space which consisted of two arm chairs, a small mini fridge and a desk below an enormous flat screen television. After removing his coat and scarf, revealing an untucked navy blue blouse, he sat himself in the chair that previously held Jim.

Moriarty catered to him, carefully taking his garments and hanging them in the small closet near the door. He promptly sat himself across from Holmes and crossed his leg across his knee showing off how well this suit really fit him.

"How's hell?" Jim asked, he ran his fingers subconsciously over his cufflinks as he peered at the older Holmes. "I hear you've been living in it for three years."

Sherlock smirked, "May I?" His eyes darted toward the mini fridge.

Jim nodded and Holmes continued. "Those three years have been nothing like the past two months." He scanned over the detectives face when he had sat down, he looked weathered, like he had been overfed and slept much too often. He nearly looked healthy.

"What has John done to you?" He watched as Sherlock easily gulped two nips of vodka down.

Sherlock gave a laugh and smirked at Moriarty. "He thinks I'm some sort of pet. No being outside, get your rest, eat your food. Sherlock Holmes the house cat." He went to get up.

"Don't bother with that piss." Jim stopped him and stood up. "Let me order us a nice bottle of

champagne." He smiled wickedly.

He did so and within minutes the room service had come. They each took their glass and raised a toast to each other. "To life." Jim grinned. "After death."

Sherlock downed his first glass quickly. "My god, I haven't had any to drink in months. Cigarettes too, John won't let me have those..." His tone went sour.

"Trouble in paradise?" Moriarty teased, raising an eyebrow to his familiar. "Don't tell me the newlyweds are thinking twice on their actions." He sipped vivaciously on his champagne.

Trying not to let on too much, Sherlock changed the subject. "How's the colonel?" He poured himself a second glass.

The smaller man checked his phone at the mention, ten missed calls. He chuckled and tossed the phone under the bed. "Still as pathetic, loyal, and dangerous as the dogs ever been." His voice dropped, not particularly pleased with the subject, he turned to look Sherlock in the eyes.

Holmes did his best to keep his tone even while the liquor did its trick. "Don't like your pooch?" He rubbed his thumb across the length of his lips. "How about a cat?"

Jims eyes narrowed at the detective. "Is that a serious offer," He stood and crossed to stand before Sherlock. "Or are you just drunk Mr. Holmes?"

Long fingers reached up and encompassed Jims tie while they pulled him down. "We'll find out in the morning." He whispered, pale lips finding Moriartys gently.


	3. Unfamiliar Territory

He stretched out and felt something...off. Sherlock noticed the bed he was residing in was absent of his partner. For a moment he nearly thought that the entire night hadn't happened at all. That was until he realized that yes, this was the bedroom in the Crowne Royal and yes, that was Jims tie that was binding his wrists to the headboard. He sighed happily, finally a day worth waking up to.

"James." His voice carried out over the empty room.

Moriarty strolled out of the bathroom a minute later, thin body covered only by his briefs. He grinned maliciously at Sherlock once he'd caught sight and crept upon him. His fingers slid up the detectives thighs, small kisses trailing along behind them and by the time he reached Sherlocks hips they were turning into nips. He sunk his teeth in below Holmes first rib. Gasping, his partners slender fingers slid through and, for a brief moment, tugged, on his hair.

He retreated betwixt Sherlocks porcelain thighs and propped them open. Jim divulged himself and took Holmes deep in his throat, looking seductively into his blue eyes. The detective bit down on his lip. _Good morning to you too_. He squeezed his legs around Moriartys waist, arching backwards as Jim flicked his tongue around his tip.

"Cum for me Holmes." He breathed, kissing down his partners length. Sherlock tossed his head back with a large groan. "Say my name darling."

In a second, the detectives entire erection was shoved down the criminals throat. "J-James." Was all that Holmes could muster before releasing down the magpies passage.

Jim dug his sharp little fingers into Sherlock before slithering his way up the brunettes pale body. "Mmm, now that was nice." He purred into Holmes ear, nipping at it.

A small smile placed itself on the consulting detectives face before he leaned in and kissed Moriarty. "It really was." He planted another kiss on Jims pert lips. "Thank you."

"What ever for?" Releasing his captive pet from his bindings, the smaller man brushed his thumb over his lovers bottom lip.

He was free to wrap himself around Jim now and he did so almost automatically. "For everything." The thumb slid between his lips. His blue eyes locked onto the darker ones, baring down upon him as he seductively nibbled and sucked on Moriarty's thumb.

Jim pulled back his fingers excitedly, cracking his knuckles in the process. "Mmm perhaps another time dear Holmes." He said, slipping from Sherlocks grip and grabbing his discarded clothing from the floor.

"You've got someone to be home for." He added wickedly, sliding on his slacks.

Sherlocks heart fell. He hadn't thought of John this entire time. Not even with guilt in his heart. His gaze was lost to the corner of the room for the better part of a minute before Jim slid himself on top again, dressed this time. "Lock up when you're finished dear." And at that, he kissed a sharp cheek bone and left.

He lay there a long time, trying to wrap his head around the entire evening. What would John do when he came home? He'd ask where Sherlock had been, what was he supposed to say. He didn't feel like going back to that life. Now, he had decided, he didn't have to.


End file.
